


You're My King and I'm Your Lionheart

by Lyoung_50



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Horror, emotionally repressed boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyoung_50/pseuds/Lyoung_50
Summary: "Agent Mills, FBI." Dean's nimble fingers flipped his badge open with practiced ease, long enough for the man to catch the bold-print credentials, not long enough to look at the fine details. "Am I correct in guessing you're in charge here?"It was a long moment of a glare that could strip paint off of Dean's Baby before the man spoke."Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. Five-0."





	1. Introduction

He shouldn't be there. It was late. The time clock had long since passed 5, but it wasn't like he could just leave without finishing the project he'd started. The rest of the crew had left nearly 4 hours ago, and he could feel the silence of the building snaking around him like tentacles. He told himself it was just paranoia trying to worm its way into his brain.

He'd heard the stories when he first moved to the island three years prior. Everyone had heard them. You don't sign a contract to demolish a supposedly haunted house without at least 30 people reading you the riot act about the history of the site.

Pushing away thoughts of the whispered urban legends, he leaned over the work bench again to tic another mark onto the two-by-four. The steady ticking of the clock on the wall and the low filtering music from his phone almost disguised the sound of a floorboard creaking. 

When he peered down the hallway, there was nothing. It seemed as though the air wasn't even circulating anymore. It was just stagnant and still.

"Hello?" 

Nothing. 

"Hey, if someone's in here you gotta go. Site's closed." 

Silence answered him, heavy and dark. 

He'd almost convinced himself he was hearing things when the giggle resonated off the eggshell colored walls, seeming to fill the entire room at once. The sound was airy and youthful when it hit his ears, but there was a sinister deception to it that had his skin crawling and his heart thundering. It held a deep rumble under the high tones, something almost akin to the snarl of a feral beast closing in on helpless prey. 

"Who's there?! If you guys are fucking with me, it's not funny anymore!" His voice cracked and broke around the words like they were shattered glass in his throat. 

Heavy footsteps answered him, their steady cadence moving down the empty hallway like gunshots. He tried to suck in a ragged breath but nearly choked on the rancid smell of rotting flesh that swirled around him, turning his stomach violently. 

Working to subdue his gag reflex, he scrambled for his phone on the bench. He'd almost gotten his fingers around the device when the sensation of a large hand closed over his shoulder, the rough, calloused fingers clear even through his shirt. It almost felt as if the sharp bones were trying to pierce through his skin. 

His head turned slowly, a shudder coursing through him at the arctic chill in the air that surrounded him. A scream lodged itself in his throat, unwilling to tear free until a gust of fetid air clinging to an animalistic roar blew over his skin.

"Please, God, no!" 

It was with a sickening crack and the wet pump of blood that the house on the corner of 8th and Harding was plunged back into deafening silence, save for the echoing tick of the clock.


	2. One

"I'm just sayin', dude, there's no reason for it to be this damn hot." Dean's fingers dug under the knot on his blue tie and tugged, trying to get any sort of relief from the sweltering heat.

"Dean, it's a tropical island. 'Hot' is kinda part of the appeal."

"There's hot and then there's dog-breathing-in-your face humid and hot. But, I will say that they got one thing right. Every state should have beautiful women when you get off the plane so you can get lei'd." He started expectantly, waiting for Sam's reaction.

"Dude. Really? Lei jokes?" Sam's eyes rolled so hard Dean was mildly concerned he was going to pull a muscle. "That seems a little...cheap, don't you think?"

"Cheap or not, it's funny." It had also been exactly the distraction that Dean had needed after white-knuckling his way through four air sickness bags and humming most of Metallica's entire anthology. "So, what do we know about this body?"

"Construction worker, Brian Roberts. He was working late on the site, when the supervisor came in the next morning, they found him on the ground with his head on one side of the room, body on the other. Cops looked through the surveillance footage, and they saw him get decapitated by nothing. He was all alone in the building when his head got ripped off." Sam rattled the information off, gracefully ducking under the police tape, flashing his FBI badge to the Honolulu Police officer on the other side.

Dean mimicked the action, flashed his badge, and the two started toward the large house. A few signs proudly proclaimed 'Island Contracting' on either side of the newly constructed building. Squad cars littered the grounds, all of their lights flashing though the sirens were silent.

"So, what are we thinking? Vengeful spirit? Poltergeist?"

"I dunno, man. This seems...different. We'll have to wait until all these guys clear out and come back to check EMF." Dean bobbed his head in an aborted nod when his eyes caught sight of a small cluster of people.

"Hold up. Those guys don't look like beat cops." He jerked his thumb toward the people in question and glanced to Sam. "Detectives?"

"Maybe. Most detectives don't show up strapped with thigh holsters, though." Sam gestured toward the group vaguely. "So, maybe not?"

"Well. Only one way to find out. I'll talk to, uh, tall, dark, and thigh holster. He's the one barking orders, I'm willing to bet he's running this shindig."

Dean ran a hand over his suit, smoothing down the lines, before striding toward the man, his badge a heavy weight in his jacket pocket. Sam trailed behind him, his hands tucked into his pockets as an illusion of relaxation.  
"Excuse me," The man's voice was rough, authority oozing from every letter as he spoke. "Can I help you? This is an active crime scene."

"Agent Mills, FBI." Dean's nimble fingers flipped his badge open with practiced ease, long enough for the man to catch the bold-print credentials, not long enough to look at the fine details. "Am I correct in guessing you're in charge here?"

It was a long moment of a glare that could strip paint off of Dean's Baby before the man spoke.

"Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. Five-0."

"I'm sorry, Five-what now?" Dean's brow furrowed as his arms crossed over his chest.

"Five-0. The governor's task force. We handle high profile cases." McGarrett responded, his chest puffing a bit with pride. A smaller, stocky man poked his head around McGarrett, eyeing Sam skeptically.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to keep up here, but why exactly are the Feds interested in a dead body in Hawaii?" He questioned. Dean noted that his was an accent he'd heard before. New York, maybe.

"With this case being so...unique, it came through pretty high up on the radar of things for us to look into, that's all." Sam's sweet smile made Dean's eyes roll so hard he was afraid he was going to pull a muscle.

"What my overly polite partner is saying is that we tend to take interest when dudes' heads start getting popped off in empty rooms, Mister...." Dean questioned, one brow quirking up toward his hairline.

"Detective. I'm Detective Danny Williams, this big lug's partner. Who's your enormous friend, Agent?"

"Agent Simmons. Good to meet you, Detective." Sam extended a hand to Danny, who shook it, still obviously skeptical.

"You're looking a little shaggy around the ears there for an agent, aren't you?" Danny gestured to his own slicked back hair.

"We just got off a long job, haven't quite had a chance to hit the barbers yet. Can you just fill us in on what we're looking at here?" Dean interjected before Sam could respond, swallowing down the instinctive panic that rose in his throats every time they dealt with a particularly clever cop.

"Look, man, I don't know why the Bureau sent you guys all the way here, but we've got it covered. Okay? So, you guys go find a bar, have a couple umbrella drinks on me, and take those suits back to the mainland, alright? Let the big dogs handle this one." The condescending smile was one thing, but the pat on his shoulder from McGarrett was what had him practically snarling and stepping in until the two were chest to chest.

"I get that you think you're hot shit, McGarrett, but you know what the word 'federal' means, right? That means all of this is my jurisdiction. That means that you're going to walk me through this crime scene like a good boy and tell me what I need to know or I'll eat your badge with a morning Mai Tai tomorrow. Clear?"

The tension between the men was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the HPD officers milling about the scene had all started to take notice, loitering close by and trying to listen in.

"Oooookay. Let's put 'em away, gentleman, this little pissing contest is over. Why don't I have Kono show your partner around, Agent, and you and Steven can both take a time out? Maybe count to ten in your separate corners." Danny's hands managed to find their way between the solid walls of both of their chests, prying them apart like two freight trains after a collision.

Steve and Dean stared each other down, letting the tension crackle between them a moment longer before Dean stepped closer to Sam and mumbled under his breath.

"I'll go talk to the guy who called it in. You go with them, check out the scene. See if there's anything, and I mean anything that seems off in there."

"...you mean other than a man's head getting popped off out of the blue?" Sam questioned, one eyebrow lifting in question.

"Yes, Samuel. Other than that." He sighed, turning on his heel and stomping off to find an officer to point him in the right direction.

　 --------

Dean found the man who'd stumbled upon the scene leaning against the back of an ambulance, his face still ashen. His dark hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and a copper smudge across his tanned skin made Dean think there was blood mixed in with it as well.

"Mister Keahi? I'm Agent Mills, FBI. I just have a few questions to ask you about what happened this morning." The man nodded at Dean slowly. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Strange smells? A difference in air temperature? Anything like that."

"Smells? What do weird smells have to do with finding my friend with his head ripped off, Agent?" Keahi stood slowly from the back of the ambulance and stared Dean down.

He was a gargantuan man, easily dwarfing even Sam Dean guessed. His face was weather-beaten, the lines in his forehead deep and creased. Several tribal tattoos swirled over the muscles of his forearms, disappearing under his safety yellow t-shirt where Dean couldn't see them to discern any specific details.

"It's just a routine question, Mister Keahi, we like to have all of our bases covered so we can find out what happened to your friend as soon as possible. How well did you know Mister Roberts?" The man seemed to relax a bit at the more tame question. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead before he spoke again.

"Pretty well. He moved here six months ago from the mainland. Didn't have a whole lot of friends when he joined the crew. He told us that he used to work I.T. in Colorado before he moved here. Lost his wife and their baby girl in an accident, some asshole drunk driver jumped the yellow line. Brian drank pretty heavily, went to rehab after losing his job, and wound up here when he got out. Said that he needed a change of pace, so he figured he'd give contracting a shot, and 'what better place than paradise'." Keahi breathed out a humorless laugh that sounded far too close to tears for it to be anything other than heart breaking. "Brian said that he wanted to do this because he wanted a little more excitement in his life. He used joked that cords and wires were a hell of a lot more interesting when they were attached to power tools on the other end instead of telephones and computers."

"He didn't happen to mention anything about closing any big deals or anything before he moved from Colorado, did he?" The gnawing pit in Dean's stomach that always opened up when his brain allowed itself to wander toward the possibilty of Hell Hounds twisted into a knot and chewed at him viciously. When Keahi shook his head, Dean tried to make his exhale normal and not a desperate wheeze.

"Nah, brah. He just told us that his life had gone to hell in a hand basket, and that he needed a change." Dean nodded, flicking the notepad that he'd been jotting down all of the information into diligently into his pocket.

"I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions, we'll be in touch if we have anymore. And, uh, why don't you take the rest of the week off from work, huh? I'd say that you've more than earned it, wouldn't you?" With a weak chuckle, Keahi shot Dean a half-hearted thumbs up. "Atta boy. Your boss gives you a hard time, you send him my way, capiche?"

"Capiche, brah." Dean had just started to walk away when Keahi's meaty, baseball mitt-sized hand closed around his wrist. "Agent...you're gonna find out what happened to Brian, right? I don't want my friend to wind up as one of those cold case files you guys got filling basements."

The request wasn't one that he hadn't heard from grieving people before. In their line of work, someone was always dead and someone was always mourning them. Somehow, though, seeing the plea in the eyes of this man struck a chord with him. Dean nodded jerkily a few times.

"We're going to do our damnest to make sure that what happened to your friend doesn't happen to anyone else, Mister Keahi. You've got my word." That seemed to satifisy Keahi enough for him to drop Dean's wrist and let him walk back to where Sam had just emerged from the construction site.

"Dude, there's nothing in there. No sulfur, no sigils, no hex bags that I could see. Nothing." Sam sighed when the attractive woman who'd been on his heels made a bee line for McGarrett.

"No scratch marks or anything, right? No scorched boards?" He questioned, his eyes never leavning McGarrett as the other man talked through the scene with his team.

"None of the above. It's not Hell Hounds, Dean. Don't worry."

"Hey, it's not an irrational fear. And, I wanted to check. It's not likely, but it's possible. I talked to the first guy on the scene, turned out to be the victim's BFF. He said that Roberts moved to the islands after losing his wife and young daughter in a drunk driving accident. I don't know about you, but if anything was going to make me make a crossroads deal, that would probably be it."

"If he made that deal, wouldn't we have a wife somewhere around here? She's not anywhere in the report or anything. I don't think he made a deal, Dean." Sam sighed, one hand dragging through his hair. "But, if it's nothing that we thought it might be, what the hell is it? Peoples' heads don't just come off for no reason."

"I guess this means that a simple salt and burn is out of the question. And, as much as it pains me to say this, we're going to have to stick around for a while and make nice with McGarrett and his goon squad if we want in on what they find." Dean could already feel a migraine brewing in his skull.

"They're really not so bad. Kono is nice, helpful even...if a little intimidating. Chin, the other guy? That's her cousin, and she says that he's one of the best detectives that she knows, so he'll probably be a good asset in picking up things that you and I miss. Who knows, Dean, maybe we'll find out that actually cooperating with local law enforcement is the way to go."

"I don't know if you recall this, Sam, but we are technically dead. And, if their database says we aren't dead, then we are convicts on the run at the very least." Dean hissed. McGarrett caught his eye across the scene, the stare turning his stomach into a giant knot. The other man seemed to gather himself before he began striding toward Dean and Sam purposefully.

"Hey." He mumbled out when he was finally close enough. "It's been pointed out that I may have...overreacted and overstepped my boundries earlier. I...want to apologize, Agent Mills. I just get a little overprotective when it comes to my team and our cases." If the situation weren't so off, Dean probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from breaking out into laughter at the look of pain on Steve's face when he uttered the word "apologize".

"You, uh, you okay? You look a little sick, McGarrett." The question was only half sarcastic. Dean was genuinely  
concerned that the guy might pass out.

"I'm, uh, yeah. I'm good." McGarrett tried to wave off the concern.

"He's allergic to the full spectrum of human emotions. That's just his reaction instead of hives." Danny added helpfully, giving Dean a megawatt grin from his constant position at Steve's side.

"I'm not allergic to emotions, Daniel. I just...forget it. Mills, what did you get from talking to Keahi?" Steve huffed, his arms crossing over his broad chest, shifting his focus to Dean.

"Not a whole lot. He says that Roberts moved out here after losing his wife and kid in an accident. He used to be an I.T. guy in Colorado that just decided to go down a different career path when he moved to the island." Dean wiped at an errant bead of sweat that tried to trail off the end of his nose.

"Did he say if Roberts had any enemies? Anyone who would be interested in hurting him?" The man to Steve's right, Chin he believed Sam had said, questioned. He had soft features and a gentle way about him that Dean couldn't quite put a name to, but he kept him more at ease than Steve or Danny.

"Did he have any...enemies? I, uh, didn't ask. I'm not sure." Chin's forehead creased slowly at Dean's answer, making him squirm a bit under his suit.

"So, we've got a dead body...and you didn't think to ask one of the most basic questions that a cop can ask?" Danny questioned, the disbelief hanging on his tongue brought bile to the back of Dean's throat with a wave of panic.

"Look, the guy's shaken up. Okay? He found his best friend torn to pieces this morning, I wasn't going to ask him every question in the book right now. So, we call him in tomorrow. Hell, maybe even the next day. Then you can ask him every question that pops into your head." The biting agression that he switched to instinctively obviously had the other team on edge, all of their shoulders immediately set into a rigid line.

"We need to asks these questions, Agent. We don't ask questions like that now, we don't have a lead, and this....whatever killed Roberts could possibly kill someone else. I get that what he's going through is rough, but if we want to make sure to find out what killed his friend, he's going to have to work with us." Danny got progressively closer with each sentence until he was directly in front of Dean, looking up at him with an intense gaze.

"If you want to prod a grieving man until he won't talk to you anymore, Detective, you go ahead and be my guest. He's sitting in the back of that ambulance over there. But, I don't want to hear you whining when he won't give anything else up." Dean growled out, not waivering even when Danny's eyes narrowed into a glare.

"I'm thinking that you boys have enough information from the scene to go on for the day. CSU is going to finish processing, then we'll be back here tomorrow to process through with the info that they find. There's not much else here today." Kono piped up, her hands setttled on her hips. Dean shifted his eyes toward her with a brief nod. His flicked a business card with his cell number and their motel room number on the back toward her, not bothering to step back from Danny.

"This is where we're staying, and that's my personal number. You guys find anything else weird, anything at all, you call me. Okay? Seriously." Kono took the card from him, flipping it over in her hands a few times before letting out a soft snort.

"That's where you guys are staying? The feds can't spring for anything more than a pay by the hour rat trap? You guys better sleep with your guns under your pillows in that place." She shot Dean a wink and handed the card over to Steve. Steve barked out a laugh of his own, slipping the card into his cargo pants pocket.

"She's not kidding, we've done more than our fair share of busts in that dump. You give us a call if someone tries to sell your kidney." Steve handed his own card to Dean, giving him another one of those unsettling smiles before he and the rest of his team turned toward the building and stalked off, leaving Sam and Dean gaping at their backs.

"...Douchebags. A whole team of douchebags." Dean mumbled, dragging his fingers through his hair as he turned back toward their rental car.

"What now?" Sam sighed, flaling into step beside him.

"Now, we research. Dig up everything that we can about this place, there has to be something that we're missing, or that they aren't telling us. We just have to find it."

\-----------

Dean scowled at the overly showy, fake palm tree illuminated next to the door of the bar he'd managed to find just outside of the tourist mob in Honolulu. His phone was cradled between his shoulder and ear where he was listening to Sam rattling off everything that he'd found during his research.

"So, the construction site used the be the home of a place called the Kaimuki House. Dean, the list of crap that's happened here...it's insane. It started with a family of Japanese immigrants. The father snapped, ended up killing both kids and his wife. They found the wife and son's bodies hacked up in the house, they never found the daughter." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened. "Then, in 1942 the cops got a call from a single mother, she told them 'she's trying to kill my children'. Cops showed up and found, get this, the kids being levitated, slapped around, and thrown across the room by something they couldn't see. There's even a police report about the whole thing. One of the kids told his mom he 'smelled the ghost' and it pissed whatever the spirit is off enough to attack."

"Well, that was seventy-five years ago. Why did the spirit wait until now to do anything else?" Dean questioned.

"See, that's just it. It didn't wait until now. In 1972, three women moved into the house together. One of the women started being attacked by the spirit, so her roommates called the cops. When they showed up, she had made it out the her car and she told them that the spirit had been choking her. She had ligature marks around her neck, so the cops offered to give her a police escort to stay at her mother's house for the night." Sam's voice trailed off slightly.

"Let me guess, it doesn't end there? Because why would it."

"Not quite. The cops were escorting her home when she pulled her car to the side of the road. The entity was in her car, choking her again. They finally got it in check and started driving again, but the cops witnessed her car door being ripped off, and the entity dragged the woman from her car, and...it choked her to death while the cops tried to save her."

"Jesus...this doesn't sound like some normal ghost we're dealing with here. I've never heard of something that could do anything like this." Dean started pacing, tugging on his thin t-shirt to dispel some of the heat that still clung to him even long after the sun had sunk below the ocean.

"The last story I found was about a lesbian couple that moved into the house. One of the women started having an affair with a man, but she didn't tell him she was a lesbian and that she was married. When he found out, he went crazy. Killed her, her wife, and himself in the house. Then it was torn down in 2016. The construction on the new building started late last year. That's when all the new activity that's been recorded there started happening."

"See, now that sounds ghosty! They hate when you rebuild their crap. But, the rest of it...I dunno, Sammy. None  
of that sounds anything close to normal to me. Maybe we should give Garth a call? See if he's heard of anything like this, or if he can find anything in any of Bobby's stuff." Dean suggested. On the other end of the line he heard Sam let out a quiet sigh.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll give him a call and see what he can shake out. We'll figure it out, Dean. We always do." Dean was silent in response, his head resting back against the bar's wall. "Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You keep digging, okay? I'm gonna see if I can't chat up the locals, shake loose some old info on urban legends or something."

"So...you're at the bar, then?" Sam questioned. Dean couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"You know me so well, Samuel. Don't wait up." He ended the call and strode into the bar, smoothing down his shirt.

\-------

"You have got to be kidding me." Dean groaned, his eyes falling on an already all too familiar pair of cargo pants settled onto one of the bar stools in front of him. 

"All the bars on the island and you just happened to walk into this one, Agent?" Steve smirked over the top of his beer, one eyebrow raised.

"Look, I wasn't following you or anything if that's what you're implying, McGarrett. I needed to get out of the motel room, and this bar just happened to be closest. And just Dean is fine, by the way." He took a seat to Steve's left and ordered himself a double whiskey when the bartender came to him.

"I didn't think that at all." Steve shook his head, his thumb trailing after a drop of condensation on his glass. "Dean." The name came as an after thought. Dean shook off the warmth in his chest at hearing it roll off Steve's tongue, and reminded himself that he hated the guy.

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a while, both men sipping their drinks and trying to avoid any semblance of eye contact with the other. It was Steve that finally broke the radio silence.

"So, if you're here then I assume there haven't been any attempted black market organ deals in your motel?"

"Black market...oh. Not yet, no. But, the night is still young. Plenty of time for kidney snatching after midnight." Dean chuckled, shaking his head just a bit. Usually he tried to avoid talking to local law enforcement, yet there he was sharing a drink with one. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

"After midnight, huh? Who knew that kidney snatching was what was happening when the neon lights came on."

"Dude..." Dean swiveled on his barstool enough to level Steve with a curious look. "Did you just make a Judas Priest reference?"

"Most people don't catch on when I make those, but yeah, I did." Steve downed the rest of his beer and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Maybe I misjudged you, McGarrett. No guy that likes Judas Priest can be that much of a douche." Dean lifted his glass toward Steve in appreciation. 

"You think I'm a douche?"

"I mean...kinda, yeah."

"Well, I know this might come as a surprise, but you aren't the first person in my life to tell me that I'm a douche." Steve stage-whispered, fighting against a grin when Dean pressed a hand to his chest and feigned shock.  
"You don't say, Commander." Steve barked out a laugh and nodded. "What's with that, anyway? The Lieutenant Commander thing? You Army or something?"

"Navy. SEALs, actually. Reserves now, technically." 

"SEALs? Really?" Dean let out a low whistle, significantly impressed. "My old man was a Marine. Way back in the day." 

"Jarhead, huh? That explains a lot, actually." Dean raised a brow at Steve when he finished the sentence, silently asking for him to continue. "You remind me a lot of the guys that served under me. Most guys don't have that vibe, the one that makes it obvious they've spent most of their life taking orders."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, McGarrett." 

Steve seemed to think for a long moment before he pulled a half-shrug. 

"Not a good thing, not a bad thing, really. It just kinda...is." He leaned forward enough to rest his chin on his hand, his thumb drawing over his bottom lip thoughtfully. Dean couldn't help himself from watching the slow trail of it. In the morning, if he questioned himself, he'd blame it on the whiskey. Even if a double wasn't nearly enough for him to forget all of the reasons he was supposed to hate Steven McGarrett. 

It was when Steve caught sight of Dean's gaze that Dean decided he'd better call it a night before he did something stupid. He stood and dug his wallet out of his jeans, grabbing few crumpled bills, more than enough for his drink and Steve's, and tossed them on the bar.

"Drinks are on me this time, man. I gotta head back to the motel. Big day tomorrow and all that. I'll, uh, I'll see you at the crime scene, yeah?" He cursed himself for letting the hopefulness that lingered in his mind seep into the question. At Steve's barely-there smile and nod, he let himself relax slightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean." Steve extended his hand, waiting patiently until Dean reached out to take it in his own. Steve's palm was calloused and warm against his, and when his thumb grazed over Dean's pulse point, he couldn't tell himself that the flutter in his chest was a side effect of anything but the hazel eyes that pinned him down like a bug on a science board. When they let go of each other, Dean had to use all of the concentration he could muster not to walk into the door on his way out into the warm night air.

He felt the ghost of Steve's fingers curled around his the entire way back to the motel.


End file.
